A. Roster of OfficersB. The First Black SoldiersC. General Saxton's InstructionsD. The Struggle for PayE. Farewell Address

Index

Chapter 1Introductory

These pages record some of the adventures of the First South CarolinaVolunteers, the first slave regiment mustered into the service of theUnited States during the late civil war. It was, indeed, the firstcolored regiment of any kind so mustered, except a portion of the troopsraised by Major-General Butler at New Orleans. These scarcely belongedto the same class, however, being recruited from the free coloredpopulation of that city, a comparatively self-reliant and educated race."The darkest of them," said General Butler, "were about the complexionof the late Mr. Webster."

The First South Carolina, on the other hand, contained scarcely afreeman, had not one mulatto in ten, and a far smaller proportion whocould read or write when enlisted. The only contemporary regiment of asimilar character was the "First Kansas Colored," which beganrecruiting a little earlier, though it was not mustered in the usualbasis of military seniority till later. [_See Appendix_] These werethe only colored regiments recruited during the year 1862. The SecondSouth Carolina and the Fifty-Fourth Massachusetts followed early in1863.

This is the way in which I came to the command of thisregiment. One day in November, 1862, I was sitting at dinner with mylieutenants, John Goodell and Luther Bigelow, in the barracks of theFifty-First Massachusetts, Colonel Sprague, when the following letterwas put into my hands:

BEAUFORT, S. C.,November 5, 1862.

MY DEAR SIR.

I am organizing the First Regiment of South Carolina Volunteers, withevery prospect of success. Your name has been spoken of, in connectionwith the command of this regiment, by some friends in whose judgment Ihave confidence. I take great pleasure in offering you the position ofColonel in it, and hope that you may be induced to accept. I shall notfill the place until I hear from you, or sufficient time shall havepassed for me to receive your reply. Should you accept, I enclose apass for Port Royal, of which I trust you will feel disposed to availyourself at once. I am, with sincere regard, yours truly,

R. SAXTON, _Brig.-Genl, Mil. Gov._

Had an invitation reached me to take command of a regiment of KalmuckTartars, it could hardly have been more unexpected. I had always lookedfor the arming of the blacks, and had always felt a wish to beassociated with them; had read the scanty accounts of General Hunter'sabortive regiment, and had heard rumors of General Saxton's renewedefforts. But the prevalent tone of public sentiment was still opposed toany such attempts; the government kept very shy of the experiment, andit did not seem possible that the time had come when it could be fairlytried.

For myself, I was at the head of a fine company of my own raising, andin a regiment to which I was already much attached. It did not seemdesirable to exchange a certainty for an uncertainty; for who knew butGeneral Saxton might yet be thwarted in his efforts by the pro-slaveryinfluence that had still so much weight at head-quarters? It would beintolerable to go out to South Carolina, and find myself, after all, atthe head of a mere plantation-guard or a day-school in uniform.

I therefore obtained from the War Department, through Governor Andrew,permission to go and report to General Saxton, without at once resigningmy captaincy. Fortunately it took but a few days in South Carolina tomake it clear that all was right, and the return steamer took back aresignation of a Massachusetts commission. Thenceforth my lot was castaltogether with the black troops, except when regiments or detachmentsof white soldiers were also under my command, during the two yearsfollowing.

These details would not be worth mentioning except as they show thisfact: that I did not seek the command of colored troops, but it soughtme. And this fact again is only important to my story for this reason,that under these circumstances I naturally viewed the new recruitsrather as subjects for discipline than for philanthropy. I had beenexpecting a war for six years, ever since the Kansas troubles, and mymind had dwelt on military matters more or less during all that time.The best Massachusetts regiments already exhibited a high standard ofdrill and discipline, and unless these men could be brought tolerablynear that standard, the fact of their extreme blackness would afford me,even as a philanthropist, no satisfaction. Fortunately, I felt perfectconfidence that they could be so trained, having happily known, byexperience, the qualities of their race, and knowing also that they hadhome and household and freedom to fight for, besides that abstraction of"the Union." Trouble might perhaps be expected from white officials,though this turned out far less than might have been feared; but therewas no trouble to come from the men, I thought, and none ever came. Onthe other hand, it was a vast experiment of indirect philanthropy, andone on which the result of the war and the destiny of the negro racemight rest; and this was enough to tax all one's powers. I had been anabolitionist too long, and had known and loved John Brown too well, notto feel a thrill of joy at last on finding myself in the position wherehe only wished to be.

In view of all this, it was clear that good discipline must come first;after that, of course, the men must be helped and elevated in all waysas much as possible.

Of discipline there was great need, that is, of order and regularinstruction. Some of the men had already been under fire, but they werevery ignorant of drill and camp duty. The officers, being appointed froma dozen different States, and more than as many regiments, infantry,cavalry, artillery, and engineers, had all that diversity of methodswhich so confused our army in those early days. The first need,therefore, was of an unbroken interval of training. During this period,which fortunately lasted nearly two months, I rarely left the camp, andgot occasional leisure moments for a fragmentary journal, to send home,recording the many odd or novel aspects of the new experience. Camp-lifewas a wonderfully strange sensation to almost all volunteer officers,and mine lay among eight hundred men suddenly transformed from slavesinto soldiers, and representing a race affectionate, enthusiastic,grotesque, and dramatic beyond all others. Being such, they naturallygave material for description. There is nothing like a diary forfreshness, at least so I think, and I shall keep to the diary throughthe days of camp-life, and throw the later experience into another form.Indeed, that matter takes care of itself; diaries and letter-writingstop when field-service begins.

I am under pretty heavy bonds to tell the truth, and only the truth;for those who look back to the newspaper correspondence of that periodwill see that this particular regiment lived for months in a glare ofpublicity, such as tests any regiment severely, and certainly preventsall subsequent romancing in its historian. As the scene of the onlyeffort on the Atlantic coast to arm the negro, our camp attracted acontinuous stream of visitors, military and civil. A battalion ofblack soldiers, a spectacle since so common, seemed then the mostdaring of innovations, and the whole demeanor of this particularregiment was watched with microscopic scrutiny by friends and foes. Ifelt sometimes as if we were a plant trying to take root, butconstantly pulled up to see if we were growing. The slightest campincidents sometimes came back to us, magnified and distorted, inletters of anxious inquiry from remote parts of the Union. It was nopleasant thing to live under such constant surveillance; but itguaranteed the honesty of any success, while fearfully multiplying thepenalties had there been a failure. A single mutiny, such as hashappened in the infancy of a hundred regiments, a single miniatureBull Run, a stampede of desertions, and it would have been all overwith us; the party of distrust would have got the upper hand, andthere might not have been, during the whole contest, another effort toarm the negro.

I may now proceed, without farther preparation to the Diary.

Chapter 2Camp Diary

CAMP SAXTON, near Beaufort, S. C.,November 24, 1862.

Yesterday afternoon we were steaming over a summer sea, the deck levelas a parlor-floor, no land in sight, no sail, until at last appeared onelight-house, said to be Cape Romaine, and then a line of trees and twodistant vessels and nothing more. The sun set, a great illuminatedbubble, submerged in one vast bank of rosy suffusion; it grew dark;after tea all were on deck, the people sang hymns; then the moon set, amoon two days old, a curved pencil of light, reclining backwards on aradiant couch which seemed to rise from the waves to receive it; it sankslowly, and the last tip wavered and went down like the mast of a vesselof the skies. Towards morning the boat stopped, and when I came on deck,before six,

"The watch-lights glittered on the land, The ship-lights on the sea."

Hilton Head lay on one side, the gunboats on the other; all that wasraw and bare in the low buildings of the new settlement was softenedinto picturesqueness by the early light. Stars were still overhead,gulls wheeled and shrieked, and the broad river rippled duskilytowards Beaufort.

The shores were low and wooded, like any New England shore; there were afew gunboats, twenty schooners, and some steamers, among them the famous"Planter," which Robert Small, the slave, presented to the nation. Theriver-banks were soft and graceful, though low, and as we steamed up toBeaufort on the flood-tide this morning, it seemed almost as fair as thesmooth and lovely canals which Stedman traversed to meet his negrosoldiers in Surinam. The air was cool as at home, yet the foliage seemedgreen, glimpses of stiff tropical vegetation appeared along the banks,with great clumps of shrubs, whose pale seed-vessels looked like tardyblossoms. Then we saw on a picturesque point an old plantation, withstately magnolia avenue, decaying house, and tiny church amid the woods,reminding me of Virginia; behind it stood a neat encampment of whitetents, "and there," said my companion, "is your future regiment."

Three miles farther brought us to the pretty town of Beaufort, with itsstately houses amid Southern foliage. Reporting to General Saxton, I hadthe luck to encounter a company of my destined command, marched in to bemustered into the United States service. They were unarmed, and alllooked as thoroughly black as the most faithful philanthropist coulddesire; there did not seem to be so much as a mulatto among them. Theircoloring suited me, all but the legs, which were clad in a livelyscarlet, as intolerable to my eyes as if I had been a turkey. I saw themmustered; General Saxton talked to them a little, in his direct, manlyway; they gave close attention, though their faces looked impenetrable.Then I conversed with some of them. The first to whom I spoke had beenwounded in a small expedition after lumber, from which a party hadjust returned, and in which they had been under fire and had done verywell. I said, pointing to his lame arm,

"Did you think that was more than you bargained for, my man?"

His answer came promptly and stoutly,

"I been a-tinking, Mas'r, dot's jess what I went for."

I thought this did well enough for my very first interchange of dialoguewith my recruits.

November 27, 1862.

Thanksgiving-Day; it is the first moment I have had for writing duringthese three days, which have installed me into a new mode of life sothoroughly that they seem three years. Scarcely pausing in New York orin Beaufort, there seems to have been for me but one step from the campof a Massachusetts regiment to this, and that step over leagues of waves.

It is a holiday wherever General Saxton's proclamation reaches. Thechilly sunshine and the pale blue river seems like New England, butthose alone. The air is full of noisy drumming, and of gunshots; for theprize-shooting is our great celebration of the day, and the drumming ischronic. My young barbarians are all at play. I look out from the brokenwindows of this forlorn plantation-house, through avenues of greatlive-oaks, with their hard, shining leaves, and their branches hung witha universal drapery of soft, long moss, like fringe-trees struck withgrayness. Below, the sandy soil, scantly covered with coarse grass,bristles with sharp palmettoes and aloes; all the vegetation is stiff,shining, semi-tropical, with nothing soft or delicate in its texture.Numerous plantation-buildings totter around, all slovenly andunattractive, while the interspaces are filled with all manner of wreckand refuse, pigs, fowls, dogs, and omnipresent Ethiopian infancy. Allthis is the universal Southern panorama; but five minutes' walk beyondthe hovels and the live-oaks will bring one to something so un-Southernthat the whole Southern coast at this moment trembles at the suggestionof such a thing, the camp of a regiment of freed slaves.

One adapts one's self so readily to new surroundings that already thefull zest of the novelty seems passing away from my perceptions, and Iwrite these lines in an eager effort to retain all I can. Already I amgrowing used to the experience, at first so novel, of living among fivehundred men, and scarce a white face to be seen, of seeing them gothrough all their daily processes, eating, frolicking, talking, just as ifthey were white. Each day at dress-parade I stand with the customaryfolding of the arms before a regimental line of countenances so blackthat I can hardly tell whether the men stand steadily or not; black isevery hand which moves in ready cadence as I vociferate, "Battalion!Shoulder arms!" nor is it till the line of white officers moves forward,as parade is dismissed, that I am reminded that my own face is not thecolor of coal.

The first few days on duty with a new regiment must be devoted almostwholly to tightening reins; in this process one deals chiefly with theofficers, and I have as yet had but little personal intercourse with themen. They concern me chiefly in bulk, as so many consumers of rations,wearers of uniforms, bearers of muskets. But as the machine comes intoshape, I am beginning to decipher the individual parts. At first, ofcourse, they all looked just alike; the variety comes afterwards, andthey are just as distinguishable, the officers say, as so many whites.Most of them are wholly raw, but there are many who have already beenfor months in camp in the abortive "Hunter Regiment," yet in that loosekind of way which, like average militia training, is a doubtfuladvantage. I notice that some companies, too, look darker than others,though all are purer African than I expected. This is said to be partlya geographical difference between the South Carolina and Florida men.When the Rebels evacuated this region they probably took with them thehouse-servants, including most of the mixed blood, so that the residuumseems very black. But the men brought from Fernandina the other dayaverage lighter in complexion, and look more intelligent, and theycertainly take wonderfully to the drill.

It needs but a few days to show the absurdity of distrusting themilitary availability of these people. They have quite as much averagecomprehension as whites of the need of the thing, as much courage (Idoubt not), as much previous knowledge of the gun, and, above all, areadiness of ear and of imitation, which, for purposes of drill,counterbalances any defect of mental training. To learn the drill, onedoes not want a set of college professors; one wants a squad of eager,active, pliant school-boys; and the more childlike these pupils arethe better. There is no trouble about the drill; they will surpasswhites in that. As to camp-life, they have little to sacrifice; theyare better fed, housed, and clothed than ever in their lives before,and they appear to have few inconvenient vices. They are simple,docile, and affectionate almost to the point of absurdity. The samemen who stood fire in open field with perfect coolness, on the lateexpedition, have come to me blubbering in the most irresistiblyludicrous manner on being transferred from one company in the regimentto another.

In noticing the squad-drills I perceive that the men learn lesslaboriously than whites that "double, double, toil and trouble," whichis the elementary vexation of the drill-master, that they more rarelymistake their left for their right, and are more grave and sedate whileunder instruction. The extremes of jollity and sobriety, being greaterwith them, are less liable to be intermingled; these companies can bedriven with a looser rein than my former one, for they restrainthemselves; but the moment they are dismissed from drill every tongue isrelaxed and every ivory tooth visible. This morning I wandered aboutwhere the different companies were target-shooting, and their glee wascontagious. Such exulting shouts of "Ki! ole man," when some steady oldturkey-shooter brought his gun down for an instant's aim, and thenunerringly hit the mark; and then, when some unwary youth fired hispiece into the ground at half-cock such guffawing and delight, suchrolling over and over on the grass, such dances of ecstasy, as made the"Ethiopian minstrelsy" of the stage appear a feeble imitation.

Evening. Better still was a scene on which I stumbled to-night.Strolling in the cool moonlight, I was attracted by a brilliant lightbeneath the trees, and cautiously approached it. A circle of thirty orforty soldiers sat around a roaring fire, while one old uncle, Cato byname, was narrating an interminable tale, to the insatiable delight ofhis audience. I came up into the dusky background, perceived only by afew, and he still continued. It was a narrative, dramatized to thelast degree, of his adventures in escaping from his master to theUnion vessels; and even I, who have heard the stories of HarrietTubman, and such wonderful slave-comedians, never witnessed such apiece of acting. When I came upon the scene he had just comeunexpectedly upon a plantation-house, and, putting a bold face uponit, had walked up to the door.

"Den I go up to de white man, berry humble, and say, would he please gibole man a mouthful for eat?

"He say he must hab de valeration ob half a dollar.

"Den I look berry sorry, and turn for go away.

"Den he say I might gib him dat hatchet I had.

"Den I say" (this in a tragic vein) "dat I must hab dat hatchet fordefend myself _from de dogs_!"

[Immense applause, and one appreciating auditor says, chuckling, "Datwas your _arms_, ole man," which brings down the house again.]

"Den he say de Yankee pickets was near by, and I must be very keerful.

"Den I say, 'Good Lord, Mas'r, am dey?'"

Words cannot express the complete dissimulation with which these accentsof terror were uttered, this being precisely the piece of information hewished to obtain.

Then he narrated his devices to get into the house at night and obtainsome food, how a dog flew at him, how the whole household, black andwhite, rose in pursuit, how he scrambled under a hedge and over a highfence, etc., all in a style of which Gough alone among orators can givethe faintest impression, so thoroughly dramatized was every syllable.

Then he described his reaching the river-side at last, and trying todecide whether certain vessels held friends or foes.

"Den I see guns on board, and sure sartin he Union boat, and I pop myhead up. Den I been-a-tink [think] Seceshkey hab guns too, and my headgo down again. Den I hide in de bush till morning. Den I open mybundle, and take ole white shut and tie him on ole pole and wave him,and ebry time de wind blow, I been-a-tremble, and drap down in debushes," because, being between two fires, he doubted whether friendor foe would see his signal first. And so on, with a succession oftricks beyond Moliere, of acts of caution, foresight, patient cunning,which were listened to with infinite gusto and perfect comprehensionby every listener.

And all this to a bivouac of negro soldiers, with the brilliant firelighting up their red trousers and gleaming from their shining blackfaces, eyes and teeth all white with tumultuous glee. Overhead, themighty limbs of a great live-oak, with the weird moss swaying in thesmoke, and the high moon gleaming faintly through.

Yet to-morrow strangers will remark on the hopeless, impenetrablestupidity in the daylight faces of many of these very men, the solidmask under which Nature has concealed all this wealth of mother-wit.This very comedian is one to whom one might point, as he hoed lazily ina cotton-field, as a being the light of whose brain had utterly goneout; and this scene seems like coming by night upon some conclave ofblack beetles, and finding them engaged, with green-room andfoot-lights, in enacting "Poor Pillicoddy." This is their university;every young Sambo before me, as he turned over the sweet potatoes andpeanuts which were roasting in the ashes, listened with reverence to thewiles of the ancient Ulysses, and meditated the same. It is Nature'scompensation; oppression simply crushes the upper faculties of the head,and crowds everything into the perceptive organs. Cato, thou reasonestwell! When I get into any serious scrape, in an enemy's country, may Ibe lucky enough to have you at my elbow, to pull me out of itl

The men seem to have enjoyed the novel event of Thanksgiving-Day; theyhave had company and regimental prize-shootings, a minimum of speechesand a maximum of dinner. Bill of fare: two beef-cattle and a thousandoranges. The oranges cost a cent apiece, and the cattle were Secesh,bestowed by General Saxby, as they all call him.

December 1, 1862.

How absurd is the impression bequeathed by Slavery in regard to theseSouthern blacks, that they are sluggish and inefficient in labor! Lastnight, after a hard day's work (our guns and the remainder of our tentsbeing just issued), an order came from Beaufort that we should be readyin the evening to unload a steamboat's cargo of boards, being some of thosecaptured by them a few weeks since, and now assigned for their use. Iwondered if the men would grumble at the night-work; but the steamboatarrived by seven, and it was bright moonlight when they went at it.Never have I beheld such a jolly scene of labor. Tugging these wet andheavy boards over a bridge of boats ashore, then across the slimy beachat low tide, then up a steep bank, and all in one great uproar ofmerriment for two hours. Running most of the time, chattering all thetime, snatching the boards from each other's backs as if they were somecoveted treasure, getting up eager rivalries between differentcompanies, pouring great choruses of ridicule on the heads of allshirkers, they made the whole scene so enlivening that I gladly stayedout in the moonlight for the whole time to watch it. And all thiswithout any urging or any promised reward, but simply as the mostnatural way of doing the thing. The steamboat captain declared that theyunloaded the ten thousand feet of boards quicker than any white gangcould have done it; and they felt it so little, that, when, later in thenight, I reproached one whom I found sitting by a campfire, cooking asurreptitious opossum, telling him that he ought to be asleep after sucha job of work, he answered, with the broadest grin, "O no, Gunnel, da'sno work at all, Gunnel; dat only jess enough for stretch we."

December 2, 1862.

I believe I have not yet enumerated the probable drawbacks to thesuccess of this regiment, if any. We are exposed to no direct annoyancefrom the white regiments, being out of their way; and we have as yet nodiscomforts or privations which we do not share with them. I do not asyet see the slightest obstacle, in the nature of the blacks, to makingthem good soldiers, but rather the contrary. They take readily to drill,and do not object to discipline; they are not especially dull orinattentive; they seem fully to understand the importance of thecontest, and of their share in it. They show no jealousy or suspiciontowards their officers.

They do show these feelings, however, towards the Governmentitself; and no one can wonder. Here lies the drawback to rapidrecruiting. Were this a wholly new regiment, it would have been full tooverflowing, I am satisfied, ere now. The trouble is in the legacy ofbitter distrust bequeathed by the abortive regiment of GeneralHunter, into which they were driven like cattle, kept for several monthsin camp, and then turned off without a shilling, by order of the WarDepartment. The formation of that regiment was, on the whole, a greatinjury to this one; and the men who came from it, though the bestsoldiers we have in other respects, are the least sanguine and cheerful;while those who now refuse to enlist have a great influence in deterringothers. Our soldiers are constantly twitted by their families andfriends with their prospect of risking their lives in the service, andbeing paid nothing; and it is in vain that we read them the instructionsof the Secretary of War to General Saxton, promising them the full payof soldiers. They only half believe it.*

*With what utter humiliation were we, their officers, obliged toconfess to them, eighteen months afterwards, that it was their distrustwhich was wise, and our faith in the pledges of the United StatesGovernment which was foolishness!

Another drawback is that some of the white soldiers delight infrightening the women on the plantations with doleful tales of plans forputting us in the front rank in all battles, and such silly talk,--theobject being perhaps, to prevent our being employed on active service atall. All these considerations they feel precisely as white men would,--noless, no more; and it is the comparative freedom from such unfavorableinfluences which makes the Florida men seem more bold and manly, as theyundoubtedly do. To-day General Saxton has returned from Fernandina withseventy-six recruits, and the eagerness of the captains to secure themwas a sight to see. Yet they cannot deny that some of the very best menin the regiment are South Carolinians.

December 3, 1862.--7 P.M.

What a life is this I lead! It is a dark, mild, drizzling evening, andas the foggy air breeds sand-flies, so it calls out melodies andstrange antics from this mysterious race of grown-up children withwhom my lot is cast. All over the camp the lights glimmer in thetents, and as I sit at my desk in the open doorway, there come mingledsounds of stir and glee. Boys laugh and shout,--a feeble flute stirssomewhere in some tent, not an officer's,--a drum throbs far away inanother,--wild kildeer-plover flit and wail above us, like thehaunting souls of dead slave-masters,--and from a neighboringcook-fire comes the monotonous sound of that strange festival, halfpow-wow, half prayer-meeting, which they know only as a "shout." Thesefires are usually enclosed in a little booth, made neatly ofpalm-leaves and covered in at top, a regular native African hut, inshort, such as is pictured in books, and such as I once got up fromdried palm-leaves for a fair at home. This hut is now crammed withmen, singing at the top of their voices, in one of their quaint,monotonous, endless, negro-Methodist chants, with obscure syllablesrecurring constantly, and slight variations interwoven, allaccompanied with a regular drumming of the feet and clapping of thehands, like castanets. Then the excitement spreads: inside and outsidethe enclosure men begin to quiver and dance, others join, a circleforms, winding monotonously round some one in the centre; some "heeland toe" tumultuously, others merely tremble and stagger on, othersstoop and rise, others whirl, others caper sideways, all keep steadilycircling like dervishes; spectators applaud special strokes of skill;my approach only enlivens the scene; the circle enlarges, louder growsthe singing, rousing shouts of encouragement come in, halfbacchanalian, half devout, "Wake 'em, brudder!" "Stan' up to 'em,brudder!"--and still the ceaseless drumming and clapping, in perfectcadence, goes steadily on. Suddenly there comes a sort of snap, andthe spell breaks, amid general sighing and laughter. And this notrarely and occasionally, but night after night, while in other partsof the camp the soberest prayers and exhortations are proceedingsedately.

A simple and lovable people, whose graces seem to come by nature, andwhose vices by training. Some of the best superintendents confirm thefirst tales of innocence, and Dr. Zachos told me last night that onhis plantation, a sequestered one, "they had absolutely no vices." Norhave these men of mine yet shown any worth mentioning; since I tookcommand I have heard of no man intoxicated, and there has been but onesmall quarrel. I suppose that scarcely a white regiment in the armyshows so little swearing. Take the "Progressive Friends" and put themin red trousers, and I verily believe they would fill a guard-housesooner than these men. If camp regulations are violated, it seems tobe usually through heedlessness. They love passionately three thingsbesides their spiritual incantations; namely, sugar, home, andtobacco. This last affection brings tears to their eyes, almost, whenthey speak of their urgent need of pay; they speak of then"last-remembered quid as if it were some deceased relative, too earlylost, and to be mourned forever. As for sugar, no white man can drinkcoffee after they have sweetened it to their liking.

I see that the pride which military life creates may cause theplantation trickeries to diminish. For instance, these men make the mostadmirable sentinels. It is far harder to pass the camp lines at nightthan in the camp from which I came; and I have seen none of thatdisposition to connive at the offences of members of one's own companywhich is so troublesome among white soldiers. Nor are they lazy, eitherabout work or drill; in all respects they seem better material forsoldiers than I had dared to hope.

There is one company in particular, all Florida men, which I certainlythink the finest-looking company I ever saw, white or black; they rangeadmirably in size, have remarkable erectness and ease of carriage, andreally march splendidly. Not a visitor but notices them; yet they havebeen under drill only a fortnight, and a part only two days. They haveall been slaves, and very few are even mulattoes.

December 4, 1862.

"Dwelling in tents, with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." This condition iscertainly mine,--and with a multitude of patriarchs beside, not tomention Caesar and Pompey, Hercules and Bacchus.

A moving life, tented at night, this experience has been mine in civilsociety, if society be civil before the luxurious forest fires of Maineand the Adirondack, or upon the lonely prairies of Kansas. But astationary tent life, deliberately going to housekeeping under canvas, Ihave never had before, though in our barrack life at "Camp Wool" I oftenwished for it.

The accommodations here are about as liberal as my quarters there, twowall-tents being placed end to end, for office and bedroom, andseparated at will by a "fly" of canvas. There is a good board floor andmop-board, effectually excluding dampness and draughts, and everythingbut sand, which on windy days penetrates everywhere. The officefurniture consists of a good desk or secretary, a very clumsy anddisastrous settee, and a remarkable chair. The desk is a bequest of theslaveholders, and the settee of the slaves, being ecclesiastical in itsorigin, and appertaining to the little old church or "praise-house," nowused for commissary purposes. The chair is a composite structure: Ifound a cane seat on a dust-heap, which a black sergeant combined withtwo legs from a broken bedstead and two more from an oak-bough. I sit onit with a pride of conscious invention, mitigated by profoundinsecurity. Bedroom furniture, a couch made of gun-boxes covered withcondemned blankets, another settee, two pails, a tin cup, tin basin (weprize any tin or wooden ware as savages prize iron), and a valise,regulation size. Seriously considered, nothing more appears needful,unless ambition might crave another chair for company, and, perhaps,something for a wash-stand higher than a settee.

To-day it rains hard, and the wind quivers through the closed canvas,and makes one feel at sea. All the talk of the camp outside is fusedinto a cheerful and indistinguishable murmur, pierced through at everymoment by the wail of the hovering plover. Sometimes a face, black orwhite, peers through the entrance with some message. Since the lightreadily penetrates, though the rain cannot, the tent conveys a feelingof charmed security, as if an invisible boundary checked the patteringdrops and held the moaning wind. The front tent I share, as yet, withmy adjutant; in the inner apartment I reign supreme, bounded in anutshell, with no bad dreams.

In all pleasant weather the outer "fly" is open, and men pass andrepass, a chattering throng. I think of Emerson's Saadi, "As thousittest at thy door, on the desert's yellow floor,"--for these baresand-plains, gray above, are always yellow when upturned, and thereseems a tinge of Orientalism in all our life.

Thrice a day we go to the plantation-houses for our meals,camp-arrangements being yet very imperfect. The officers board indifferent messes, the adjutant and I still clinging to the household ofWilliam Washington,--William the quiet and the courteous, the pattern ofhouse-servants, William the noiseless, the observing, thediscriminating, who knows everything that can be got, and how to cookit. William and his tidy, lady-like little spouse Hetty--a pair of weddedlovers, if ever I saw one--set our table in their one room, half-waybetween an un glazed window and a large wood-fire, such as is oftenwelcome. Thanks to the adjutant, we are provided with the socialmagnificence of napkins; while (lest pride take too high a flight) ourtable-cloth consists of two "New York Tribunes" and a "Leslie'sPictorial." Every steamer brings us a clean table-cloth. Here are weforever supplied with pork and oysters and sweet potatoes and rice andhominy and corn-bread and milk; also mysterious griddle-cakes of cornand pumpkin; also preserves made of pumpkin-chips, and other fancifulproductions of Ethiop art. Mr. E. promised theplantation-superintendents who should come down here "all the luxuriesof home," and we certainly have much apparent, if little real variety.Once William produced with some palpitation something fricasseed, whichhe boldly termed chicken; it was very small, and seemed in someundeveloped condition of ante-natal toughness. After the meal he franklyavowed it for a squirrel.

December 5, 1862.

Give these people their tongues, their feet, and their leisure, andthey are happy. At every twilight the air is full of singing, talking,and clapping of hands in unison. One of their favorite songs is fullof plaintive cadences; it is not, I think, a Methodist tune, and Iwonder where they obtained a chant of such beauty.

It always excites them to have us looking on, yet they sing these songsat all times and seasons. I have heard this very song dimly droning onnear midnight, and, tracing it into the recesses of a cook-house, havefound an old fellow coiled away among the pots and provisions, chantingaway with his "Can't stay behind, sinner," till I made him leave hissong behind.

This evening, after working themselves up to the highest pitch, aparty suddenly rushed off, got a barrel, and mounted some man upon it,who said, "Gib anoder song, boys, and I'se gib you a speech." Aftersome hesitation and sundry shouts of "Rise de sing, somebody," and"Stan' up for Jesus, brud-der," irreverently put in by the juveniles,they got upon the John Brown song, always a favorite, adding ajubilant verse which I had never before heard,--"We'll beat Beauregardon de clare battlefield." Then came the promised speech, and then noless than seven other speeches by as many men, on a variety ofbarrels, each orator being affectionately tugged to the pedestal andset on end by his specal constituency. Every speech was good, withoutexception; with the queerest oddities of phrase and pronunciation,there was an invariable enthusiasm, a pungency of statement, and anunderstanding of the points at issue, which made them all ratherthrilling. Those long-winded slaves in "Among the Pines" seemed ratherfictitious and literary in comparison. The most eloquent, perhaps, wasCorporal Price Lambkin, just arrived from Fernandina, who evidentlyhad a previous reputation among them. His historical references werevery interesting. He reminded them that he had predicted this war eversince Fremont's time, to which some of the crowd assented; he gave avery intelligent account of that Presidential campaign, and thendescribed most impressively the secret anxiety of the slaves inFlorida to know all about President Lincoln's election, and told howthey all refused to work on the fourth of March, expecting theirfreedom to date from that day. He finally brought out one of the fewreally impressive appeals for the American flag that I have everheard. "Our mas'rs dey hab lib under de flag, dey got dere wealthunder it, and ebryting beautiful for dere chilen. Under it dey habgrind us up, and put us in dere pocket for money. But de fus' minutedey tink dat ole flag mean freedom for we colored people, dey pull itright down, and run up de rag ob dere own." (Immense applause). "Butwe'll neber desert de ole flag, boys, neber; we hab lib under it foreighteen hundred sixty-two years, and we'll die for it now." Withwhich overpowering discharge of chronology-at-long-range, this mosteffective of stump-speeches closed. I see already with relief thatthere will be small demand in this regiment for harangues from theofficers; give the men an empty barrel for a stump, and they will dotheir own exhortation.

December 11, 1862.

Haroun Alraschid, wandering in disguise through his imperial streets,scarcely happened upon a greater variety of groups than I, in my eveningstrolls among our own camp-fires.

Beside some of these fires the men are cleaning their guns orrehearsing their drill,--beside others, smoking in silence their veryscanty supply of the beloved tobacco,--beside others, telling storiesand shouting with laughter over the broadest mimicry, in which theyexcel, and in which the officers come in for a full share. Theeverlasting "shout" is always within hearing, with its mixture ofpiety and polka, and its castanet-like clapping of the hands. Thenthere are quieter prayer-meetings, with pious invocations and slowpsalms, "deaconed out" from memory by the leader, two lines at a time,in a sort of wailing chant. Elsewhere, there are _conversazioni_around fires, with a woman for queen of the circle,--her Nubian face,gay headdress, gilt necklace, and white teeth, all resplendent in theglowing light. Sometimes the woman is spelling slow monosyllables outof a primer, a feat which always commands all ears,--they rightlyrecognizing a mighty spell, equal to the overthrowing of monarchs, inthe magic assonance of _cat, hat, pat, bat_, and the rest of it.Elsewhere, it is some solitary old cook, some aged Uncle Tiff, withenormous spectacles, who is perusing a hymn-book by the light of apine splinter, in his deserted cooking booth of palmetto leaves. Byanother fire there is an actual dance, red-legged soldiers doingright-and-left, and "now-lead-de-lady-ober," to the music of a violinwhich is rather artistically played, and which may have guided thesteps, in other days, of Barnwells and Hugers. And yonder is astump-orator perched on his barrel, pouring out his exhortations tofidelity in war and in religion. To-night for the first time I haveheard an harangue in a different strain, quite saucy, sceptical, anddefiant, appealing to them in a sort of French materialistic style,and claiming some personal experience of warfare. "You don't knownotin' about it, boys. You tink you's brave enough; how you tink, ifyou stan' clar in de open field,--here you, and dar de Secesh? You'sgot to hab de right ting inside o' you. You must hab it 'served[preserved] in you, like dese yer sour plums dey 'serve in de barr'l;you's got to harden it down inside o' you, or it's notin'." Then hehit hard at the religionists: "When a man's got de sperit ob de Lordin him, it weakens him all out, can't hoe de corn." He had a greatdeal of broad sense in his speech; but presently some others beganpraying vociferously close by, as if to drown this free-thinker, whenat last he exclaimed, "I mean to fight de war through, an' die a goodsojer wid de last kick, dat's _my_ prayer!" and suddenly jumped offthe barrel. I was quite interested at discovering this reverse side ofthe temperament, the devotional side preponderates so enormously, andthe greatest scamps kneel and groan in their prayer-meetings with suchentire zest. It shows that there is some individuality developed amongthem, and that they will not become too exclusively pietistic.

Their love of the spelling-book is perfectly inexhaustible,--theystumbling on by themselves, or the blind leading the blind, with thesame pathetic patience which they carry into everything. The chaplain isgetting up a schoolhouse, where he will soon teach them as regularly ashe can. But the alphabet must always be a very incidental business in acamp.

December 14.

Passages from prayers in the camp:--

"Let me so lib dat when I die I shall _hab manners_, dat I shall knowwhat to say when I see my Heabenly Lord."

"Let me lib wid de musket in one hand an' de Bible in de oder,--dat if Idie at de muzzle ob de musket, die in de water, die on de land, I mayknow I hab de bressed Jesus in my hand, an' hab no fear."

"I hab lef my wife in de land o' bondage; my little ones dey say eb'rynight, Whar is my fader? But when I die, when de bressed mornin' rises,when I shall stan' in de glory, wid one foot on de water an' one foot onde land, den, O Lord, I shall see my wife an' my little chil'en once more."

These sentences I noted down, as best I could, beside the glimmeringcamp-fire last night. The same person was the hero of a singularlittle _contre-temps_ at a funeral in the afternoon. It was our firstfuneral. The man had died in hospital, and we had chosen apicturesque burial-place above the river, near the old church, andbeside a little nameless cemetery, used by generations of slaves. Itwas a regular military funeral, the coffin being draped with theAmerican flag, the escort marching behind, and three volleys firedover the grave. During the services there was singing, the chaplaindeaconing out the hymn in their favorite way. This ended, he announcedhis text,--"This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and deliveredhim out of all his trouble." Instantly, to my great amazement, thecracked voice of the chorister was uplifted, intoning the text, as ifit were the first verse of another hymn. So calmly was it done, soimperturbable were all the black countenances, that I half began toconjecture that the chaplain himself intended it for a hymn, though Icould imagine no propsective rhyme for _trouble_ unless it wereapproximated by _debbil_, which is, indeed, a favorite reference, bothwith the men and with his Reverence. But the chaplain, peacefullyawaiting, gently repeated his text after the chant, and to my greatrelief the old chorister waived all further recitative, and let thefuneral discourse proceed.

Their memories are a vast bewildered chaos of Jewish history andbiography; and most of the great events of the past, down to the periodof the American Revolution, they instinctively attribute to Moses. Thereis a fine bold confidence in all their citations, however, and therecord never loses piquancy in their hands, though strict accuracy maysuffer. Thus, one of my captains, last Sunday, heard a colored exhorterat Beaufort proclaim, "Paul may plant, _and may polish wid water_, butit won't do," in which the sainted Apollos would hardly have recognizedhimself.

Just now one of the soldiers came to me to say that he was about to bemarried to a girl in Beaufort, and would I lend him a dollar andseventy-five cents to buy the wedding outfit? It seemed as if matrimonyon such moderate terms ought to be encouraged in these days; and so Iresponded to the appeal.

December 16.

To-day a young recruit appeared here, who had been the slave of ColonelSammis, one of the leading Florida refugees. Two white companions camewith him, who also appeared to be retainers of the Colonel, and I askedthem to dine. Being likewise refugees, they had stories to tell, andwere quite agreeable: one was English born, the other Floridian, a dark,sallow Southerner, very well bred. After they had gone, the Colonelhimself appeared, I told him that I had been entertaining his whitefriends, and after a while he quietly let out the remark,--

"Yes, one of those white friends of whom you speak is a boy raised onone of my plantations; he has travelled with me to the North, and passedfor white, and he always keeps away from the negroes."

Certainly no such suspicion had ever crossed my mind.

I have noticed one man in the regiment who would easily pass forwhite,--a little sickly drummer, aged fifty at least, with brown eyesand reddish hair, who is said to be the son of one of our commodores.I have seen perhaps a dozen persons as fair, or fairer, among fugitiveslaves, but they were usually young children. It touched me far moreto see this man, who had spent more than half a lifetime in this lowestate, and for whom it now seemed too late to be anything but a"nigger." This offensive word, by the way, is almost as common withthem as at the North, and far more common than with well-bredslaveholders. They have meekly accepted it. "Want to go out to denigger houses, Sah," is the universal impulse of sociability, whenthey wish to cross the lines. "He hab twenty house-servants, an' twohundred head o' nigger," is a still more degrading form of phrase, inwhich the epithet is limited to the field-hands, and they estimatedlike so many cattle. This want of self-respect of course interfereswith the authority of the non-commissioned officers, which is alwaysdifficult to sustain, even in white regiments. "He needn't try to playde white man ober me," was the protest of a soldier against hiscorporal the other day. To counteract this I have often to remind themthat they do not obey their officers because they are white, butbecause they are their officers; and guard duty is an admirable schoolfor this, because they readily understand that the sergeant orcorporal of the guard has for the time more authority than anycommissioned officer who is not on duty. It is necessary also fortheir superiors to treat the non-commissioned officers with carefulcourtesy, and I often caution the line officers never to call them"Sam" or "Will," nor omit the proper handle to their names. The valueof the habitual courtesies of the regular army is exceedingly apparentwith these men: an officer of polished manners can wind them round hisfinger, while white soldiers seem rather to prefer a certainroughness. The demeanor of my men to each other is very courteous, andyet I see none of that sort of upstart conceit which is sometimesoffensive among free negroes at the North, the dandy-barber strut.This is an agreeable surprise, for I feared that freedom andregimentals would produce precisely that.

They seem the world's perpetual children, docile, gay, and lovable, inthe midst of this war for freedom on which they have intelligentlyentered. Last night, before "taps," there was the greatest noise in campthat I had ever heard, and I feared some riot. On going out, I found themost tumultuous sham-fight proceeding in total darkness, two companiesplaying like boys, beating tin cups for drums. When some of them saw methey seemed a little dismayed, and came and said, beseechingly,--"Gunnel,Sah, you hab no objection to we playin', Sah?"--which objection Idisclaimed; but soon they all subsided, rather to my regret, andscattered merrily. Afterward I found that some other officer had toldthem that I considered the affair too noisy, so that I felt a mildself-reproach when one said, "Cunnel, wish you had let we play a littlelonger, Sah." Still I was not sorry, on the whole; for these sham-fightsbetween companies would in some regiments lead to real ones, and thereis a latent jealousy here between the Florida and South Carolina men,which sometimes makes me anxious.

The officers are more kind and patient with the men than I shouldexpect, since the former are mostly young, and drilling tries thetemper; but they are aided by hearty satisfaction in the resultsalready attained. I have never yet heard a doubt expressed among theofficers as to the _superiority_ of these men to white troops inaptitude for drill and discipline, because of their imitativeness anddocility, and the pride they take in the service. One captain said tome to-day, "I have this afternoon taught my men to load-in-nine-times,and they do it better than we did it in my former company in threemonths." I can personally testify that one of our best lieutenants, anEnglishman, taught a part of his company the essential movements ofthe "school for skirmishers" in a single lesson of two hours, so thatthey did them very passably, though I feel bound to discourage suchhaste. However, I "formed square" on the third battalion drill. Threefourths of drill consist of attention, imitation, and a good ear fortime; in the other fourth, which consists of the application ofprinciples, as, for instance, performing by the left flank somemovement before learned by the right, they are perhaps slower thanbetter educated men. Having belonged to five different drill-clubsbefore entering the army, I certainly ought to know something of theresources of human awkwardness, and I can honestly say that theyastonish me by the facility with which they do things. I expected muchharder work in this respect.

The habit of carrying burdens on the head gives them erectness offigure, even where physically disabled. I have seen a woman, with abrimming water-pail balanced on her head, or perhaps a cup, saucer, andspoon, stop suddenly, turn round, stoop to pick up a missile, riseagain, fling it, light a pipe, and go through many evolutions witheither hand or both, without spilling a drop. The pipe, by the way,gives an odd look to a well-dressed young girl on Sunday, but one oftensees that spectacle. The passion for tobacco among our men continuesquite absorbing, and I have piteous appeals for some arrangement bywhich they can buy it on credit, as we have yet no sutler. Theirimploring, "Cunnel, we can't _lib_ widout it, Sah," goes to my heart;and as they cannot read, I cannot even have the melancholy satisfactionof supplying them with the excellent anti-tobacco tracts of Mr. Trask.

December 19.

Last night the water froze in the adjutant's tent, but not in mine.To-day has been mild and beautiful. The blacks say they do not feelthe cold so much as the white officers do, and perhaps it is so,though their health evidently suffers more from dampness. On the otherhand, while drilling on very warm days, they have seemed to suffermore from the heat than their officers. But they dearly love fire, andat night will always have it, if possible, even on the minutestscale,--a mere handful of splinters, that seems hardly moreefficacious than a friction-match. Probably this is a natural habitfor the short-lived coolness of an out-door country; and then there issomething delightful in this rich pine, which burns like a tar-barrel.It was, perhaps, encouraged by the masters, as the only cheap luxurythe slaves had at hand.

As one grows more acquainted with the men, their individualities emerge;and I find, first their faces, then their characters, to be as distinctas those of whites. It is very interesting the desire they show to dotheir duty, and to improve as soldiers; they evidently think about it,and see the importance of the thing; they say to me that we white mencannot stay and be their leaders always and that they must learn todepend on themselves, or else relapse into their former condition.

Beside the superb branch of uneatable bitter oranges which decks mytent-pole, I have to-day hung up a long bough of finger-sponge, whichfloated to the river-bank. As winter advances, butterflies graduallydisappear: one species (a _Vanessa_) lingers; three others have vanishedsince I came. Mocking-birds are abundant, but rarely sing; once or twicethey have reminded me of the red thrush, but are inferior, as I havealways thought. The colored people all say that it will be much cooler;but my officers do not think so, perhaps because last winter was sounusually mild,--with only one frost, they say.

December 20.

Philoprogenitiveness is an important organ for an officer of coloredtroops; and I happen to be well provided with it. It seems to be thetheory of all military usages, in fact, that soldiers are to be treatedlike children; and these singular persons, who never know their own agetill they are past middle life, and then choose a birthday with suchprecision,--"Fifty year old, Sah, de fus' last April,"--prolong theprivilege of childhood.

I am perplexed nightly for countersigns,--their range of proper namesis so distressingly limited, and they make such amazing work of everynew one. At first, to be sure, they did not quite recognize the needof any variation: one night some officer asked a sentinel whether hehad the countersign yet, and was indignantly answered, "Should tink Ihab 'em, hab 'em for a fortnight"; which seems a long epoch for thatmagic word to hold out. To-night I thought I would have"Fredericksburg," in honor of Burnside's reported victory, using therumor quickly, for fear of a contradiction. Later, in comes acaptain, gets the countersign for his own use, but presently returns,the sentinel having pronounced it incorrect. On inquiry, it appearsthat the sergeant of the guard, being weak in geography, thought bestto substitute the more familiar word, "Crockery-ware"; which was, withperfect gravity, confided to all the sentinels, and accepted withoutquestion. O life! what is the fun of fiction beside thee?

I should think they would suffer and complain these cold nights; butthey say nothing, though there is a good deal of coughing. I shouldfancy that the scarlet trousers must do something to keep them warm, andwonder that they dislike them so much, when they are so much like theirbeloved fires. They certainly multiply firelight in any case. I oftennotice that an infinitesimal flame, with one soldier standing by it,looks like quite a respectable conflagration, and it seems as if a groupof them must dispel dampness.

December 21.

To a regimental commander no book can be so fascinating as theconsolidated Morning Report, which is ready about nine, and tells howmany in each company are sick, absent, on duty, and so on. It is one'snewspaper and daily mail; I never grow tired of it. If a single recruithas come in, I am always eager to see how he looks on paper.

To-night the officers are rather depressed by rumors of Burnside's beingdefeated, after all. I am fortunately equable and undepressible; and itis very convenient that the men know too little of the events of the warto feel excitement or fear. They know General Saxton and me,--"deGeneral" and "de Gunnel,"--and seem to ask no further questions. We arethe war. It saves a great deal of trouble, while it lasts, thischildlike confidence; nevertheless, it is our business to educate themto manhood, and I see as yet no obstacle.

As for the rumor, the world will no doubt roll round, whether Burnsideis defeated or succeeds.

This is the hymn which the slaves at Georgetown, South Carolina, werewhipped for singing when President Lincoln was elected. So said a littledrummer-boy, as he sat at my tent's edge last night and told me hisstory; and he showed all his white teeth as he added, "Dey tink _'deLord'_ meant for say de Yankees."

Last night, at dress-parade, the adjutant read General Saxton'sProclamation for the New Year's Celebration. I think they understood it,for there was cheering in all the company-streets afterwards. Christmasis the great festival of the year for this people; but, with New Year'scoming after, we could have no adequate programme for to-day, and socelebrated Christmas Eve with pattern simplicity. We omitted, namely,the mystic curfew which we call "taps," and let them sit up and burntheir fires, and have their little prayer-meetings as late as theydesired; and all night, as I waked at intervals, I could hear thempraying and "shouting" and clattering with hands and heels. It seemed tomake them very happy, and appeared to be at least an innocent Christmasdissipation, as compared with some of the convivialities of the"superior race" hereabouts.

December 26.

The day passed with no greater excitement for the men thantarget-shooting, which they enjoyed. I had the private delight of thearrival of our much-desired surgeon and his nephew, the captain, withletters and news from home. They also bring the good tidings thatGeneral Saxton is not to be removed, as had been reported.

Two different stands of colors have arrived for us, and will bepresented at New Year's,--one from friends in New York, and the otherfrom a lady in Connecticut. I see that "Frank Leslie's IllustratedWeekly" of December 20th has a highly imaginative picture of themuster-in of our first company, and also of a skirmish on the lateexpedition.

I must not forget the prayer overheard last night by one of thecaptains: "O Lord! when I tink ob dis Kismas and las' year de Kismas.Las' Kismas he in de Secesh, and notin' to eat but grits, and no salt in'em. Dis year in de camp, and too much victual!" This "too much" is afavorite phrase out of their grateful hearts, and did not in this casedenote an excess of dinner,--as might be supposed,--but of thanksgiving.

December 29.

Our new surgeon has begun his work most efficiently: he and the chaplainhave converted an old gin-house into a comfortable hospital, with tennice beds and straw pallets. He is now, with a hearty professionalfaith, looking round for somebody to put into it. I am afraid theregiment will accommodate him; for, although he declares that these mendo not sham sickness, as he expected, their catarrh is an unpleasantreality. They feel the dampness very much, and make such a coughing atdress-parade, that I have urged him to administer a dose ofcough-mixture, all round, just before that pageant. Are the colored race_tough?_ is my present anxiety; and it is odd that physicalinsufficiency, the only discouragement not thrown in our way by thenewspapers, is the only discouragement which finds any place in ourminds. They are used to sleeping indoors in winter, herded before fires,and so they feel the change. Still, the regiment is as healthy as theaverage, and experience will teach us something.*

* A second winter's experience removed all this solicitude, for theylearned to take care of themselves. During the first February thesick-list averaged about ninety, during the second about thirty,this being the worst month in the year for blacks.

December 30.

On the first of January we are to have a slight collation, ten oxen orso, barbecued,--or not properly barbecued, but roasted whole. Touchingthe length of time required to "do" an ox, no two housekeepers appear toagree. Accounts vary from two hours to twenty-four. We shall happilyhave enough to try all gradations of roasting, and suit all tastes, fromMiss A.'s to mine. But fancy me proffering a spare-rib, well done, tosome fair lady! What ever are we to do for spoons and forks and plates?Each soldier has his own, and is sternly held responsible for it by"Army Regulations." But how provide for the multitude? Is it customary,I ask you, to help to tenderloin with one's fingers? Fortunately, theMajor is to see to that department. Great are the advantages of militarydiscipline: for anything perplexing, detail a subordinate.

New Year's Eve.

My housekeeping at home is not, perhaps, on any very extravagant scale.Buying beefsteak, I usually go to the extent of two or three pounds. Yetwhen, this morning at daybreak, the quartermaster called to inquire howmany cattle I would have killed for roasting, I turned over in bed, andanswered composedly, "Ten,--and keep three to be fatted."

Fatted, quotha! Not one of the beasts at present appears to possess anounce of superfluous flesh. Never were seen such lean kine. As theyswing on vast spits, composed of young trees, the firelight glimmersthrough their ribs, as if they were great lanterns. But no matter, theyare cooking,--nay, they are cooked.

One at least is taken off to cool, and will be replaced tomorrow towarm up. It was roasted three hours, and well done, for I tasted it.It is so long since I tasted fresh beef that forgetfulness ispossible; but I fancied this to be successful. I tried to imagine thatI liked the Homeric repast, and certainly the whole thing has been farmore agreeable than was to be expected. The doubt now is, whether Ihave made a sufficient provision for my household. I should haveroughly guessed that ten beeves would feed as many million people, ithas such a stupendous sound; but General Saxton predicts a smallsocial party of five thousand, and we fear that meat will run short,unless they prefer bone. One of the cattle is so small, we are hopingit may turn out veal.

For drink we aim at the simple luxury of molasses-and-water, a barrelper company, ten in all. Liberal housekeepers may like to know that fora barrel of water we allow three gallons of molasses, half a pound ofginger, and a quart of vinegar,--this last being a new ingredient for myuntutored palate, though all the rest are amazed at my ignorance. Hardbread, with more molasses, and a dessert of tobacco, complete thefestive repast, destined to cheer, but not inebriate.

On this last point, of inebriation, this is certainly a wonderful camp.For us it is absolutely omitted from the list of vices. I have neverheard of a glass of liquor in the camp, nor of any effort either tobring it in or to keep it out. A total absence of the circulating mediummight explain the abstinence,--not that it seems to have that effect withwhite soldiers,--but it would not explain the silence. The craving fortobacco is constant, and not to be allayed, like that of a mother forher children; but I have never heard whiskey even wished for, save onChristmas-Day, and then only by one man, and he spoke with a hopelessideal sighing, as one alludes to the Golden Age. I am amazed at thistotal omission of the most inconvenient of all camp appetites. Itcertainly is not the result of exhortation, for there has been nooccasion for any, and even the pledge would scarcely seem efficaciouswhere hardly anybody can write.

I do not think there is a great visible eagerness for tomorrow'sfestival: it is not their way to be very jubilant over anything thisside of the New Jerusalem. They know also that those in this Departmentare nominally free already, and that the practical freedom has to bemaintained, in any event, by military success. But they will enjoy itgreatly, and we shall have a multitude of people.

January 1, 1863 (evening).

A happy New Year to civilized people,--mere white folks. Our festivalhas come and gone, with perfect success, and our good General has beenaltogether satisfied. Last night the great fires were kept smoulderingin the pit, and the beeves were cooked more or less, chieflymore,--during which time they had to be carefully watched, and thegreat spits turned by main force. Happy were the merry fellows whowere permitted to sit up all night, and watch the glimmering flamesthat threw a thousand fantastic shadows among the great gnarled oaks.And such a chattering as I was sure to hear whenever I awoke thatnight!

My first greeting to-day was from one of the most stylish sergeants, whoapproached me with the following little speech, evidently the result ofsome elaboration:--

"I tink myself happy, dis New Year's Day, for salute my own Cunnel. Disday las' year I was servant to a Gunnel ob Secesh; but now I hab deprivilege for salute my own Cunnel."

That officer, with the utmost sincerity, reciprocated the sentiment.

About ten o'clock the people began to collect by land, and also bywater,--in steamers sent by General Saxton for the purpose; and from thattime all the avenues of approach were thronged. The multitude werechiefly colored women, with gay handkerchiefs on their heads, and asprinkling of men, with that peculiarly respectable look which thesepeople always have on Sundays and holidays. There were many whitevisitors also,--ladies on horseback and in carriages, superintendents andteachers, officers, and cavalry-men. Our companies were marched to theneighborhood of the platform, and allowed to sit or stand, as at theSunday services; the platform was occupied by ladies and dignitaries,and by the band of the Eighth Maine, which kindly volunteered for theoccasion; the colored people filled up all the vacant openings in thebeautiful grove around, and there was a cordon of mounted visitorsbeyond. Above, the great live-oak branches and their trailing moss;beyond the people, a glimpse of the blue river.

The services began at half past eleven o'clock, with prayer by ourchaplain, Mr. Fowler, who is always, on such occasions, simple,reverential, and impressive. Then the President's Proclamation wasread by Dr. W. H. Brisbane, a thing infinitely appropriate, a SouthCarolinian addressing South Carolinians; for he was reared among thesevery islands, and here long since emancipated his own slaves. Then thecolors were presented to us by the Rev. Mr. French, a chaplain whobrought them from the donors in New York. All this was according tothe programme. Then followed an incident so simple, so touching, soutterly unexpected and startling, that I can scarcely believe it onrecalling, though it gave the keynote to the whole day. The verymoment the speaker had ceased, and just as I took and waved the flag,which now for the first time meant anything to these poor people,there suddenly arose, close beside the platform, a strong male voice(but rather cracked and elderly), into which two women's voicesinstantly blended, singing, as if by an impulse that could no more berepressed than the morning note of the song-sparrow.--

"My Country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing!"

People looked at each other, and then at us on the platform, to seewhence came this interruption, not set down in the bills. Firmly andirrepressibly the quavering voices sang on, verse after verse; othersof the colored people joined in; some whites on the platform began,but I motioned them to silence. I never saw anything so electric; itmade all other words cheap; it seemed the choked voice of a race atlast unloosed. Nothing could be more wonderfully unconscious; artcould not have dreamed of a tribute to the day of jubilee that shouldbe so affecting; history will not believe it; and when I came to speakof it, after it was ended, tears were everywhere. If you could haveheard how quaint and innocent it was! Old Tiff and his children mighthave sung it; and close before me was a little slave-boy, almostwhite, who seemed to belong to the party, and even he must join in.Just think of it!--the first day they had ever had a country, thefirst flag they had ever seen which promised anything to their people,and here, while mere spectators stood in silence, waiting for mystupid words, these simple souls burst out in their lay, as if theywere by their own hearths at home! When they stopped, there wasnothing to do for it but to speak, and I went on; but the life of thewhole day was in those unknown people's song.

Receiving the flags, I gave them into the hands of two fine-looking men,jet black, as color-guard, and they also spoke, and veryeffectively,--Sergeant Prince Rivers and Corporal Robert Sutton. Theregiment sang "Marching Along," and then General Saxton spoke, in hisown simple, manly way, and Mrs. Francis D. Gage spoke very sensibly tothe women, and Judge Stickney, from Florida, added something; then somegentleman sang an ode, and the regiment the John Brown song, and thenthey went to their beef and molasses. Everything was very orderly, andthey seemed to have a very gay time. Most of the visitors had far togo, and so dispersed before dress-parade, though the band stayed toenliven it. In the evening we had letters from home, and General Saxtonhad a reception at his house, from which I excused myself; and so endedone of the most enthusiastic and happy gatherings I ever knew. The daywas perfect, and there was nothing but success.

I forgot to say, that, in the midst of the services, it was announcedthat General Fremont was appointed Commander-in-Chief,--an announcementwhich was received with immense cheering, as would have been almostanything else, I verily believe, at that moment of high tide. It wasshouted across by the pickets above,--a way in which we often receivenews, but not always trustworthy.

January 3, 1863.

Once, and once only, thus far, the water has frozen in my tent; andthe next morning showed a dense white frost outside. We have stillmocking-birds and crickets and rosebuds, and occasional noonday bathsin the river, though the butterflies have vanished, as I remember tohave observed in Fayal, after December. I have been here nearly sixweeks without a rainy day; one or two slight showers there have been,once interrupting a drill, but never dress-parade. For climate, byday, we might be among the isles of Greece,--though it may be myconstant familiarity with the names of her sages which suggests thatimpression. For instance, a voice just now called, near mytent,--"Cato, whar's Plato?" The men have somehow got the impressionthat it is essential to the validity of a marriage that they shouldcome to me for permission, just as they used to go to the master; andI rather encourage these little confidences, because it is soentertaining to hear them. "Now, Cunnel," said a faltering swam theother day, "I want for get me one good lady," which I approved,especially the limitation as to number. Afterwards I asked one of thebridegroom's friends whether he thought it a good match. "O yes,Cunnel," said he, in all the cordiality of friendship, "John's gwinefor marry Venus." I trust the goddess will prove herself a better ladythan she appeared during her previous career upon this planet. Butthis naturally suggests the isles of Greece again.

January 7.

On first arriving, I found a good deal of anxiety among the officers asto the increase of desertions, that being the rock on which the "HunterRegiment" split. Now this evil is very nearly stopped, and we are everyday recovering the older absentees. One of the very best things thathave happened to us was the half-accidental shooting of a man who hadescaped from the guard-house, and was wounded by a squad sent inpursuit. He has since died; and this very eve-rung another man, whoescaped with him, came and opened the door of my tent, after being fivedays in the woods, almost without food. His clothes were in rags, and hewas nearly starved, poor foolish fellow, so that we can almost dispensewith further punishment. Severe penalties would be wasted on thesepeople, accustomed as they have been to the most violent passions on thepart of white men; but a mild inexorableness tells on them, just as itdoes on any other children. It is something utterly new to me, and it isthus far perfectly efficacious. They have a great deal of pride assoldiers, and a very little of severity goes a great way, if it be firmand consistent. This is very encouraging.

The single question which I asked of some of the plantationsuperintendents, on the voyage, was, "Do these people appreciate_justice_?" If they did it was evident that all the rest would be easy.When a race is degraded beyond that point it must be very hard to dealwith them; they must mistake all kindness for indulgence, all strictnessfor cruelty. With these freed slaves there is no such trouble, not aparticle: let an officer be only just and firm, with a cordial, kindlynature, and he has no sort of difficulty. The plantation superintendentsand teachers have the same experience, they say; but we have an immenseadvantage in the military organization, which helps in two ways: itincreases their self-respect, and it gives us an admirable machinery fordiscipline, thus improving both the fulcrum and the lever.

The wounded man died in the hospital, and the general verdict seemed tobe, "Him brought it on heself." Another soldier died of pneumonia on thesame day, and we had the funerals in the evening. It was veryimpressive. A dense mist came up, with a moon behind it, and we had onlythe light of pine-splinters, as the procession wound along beneath themighty, moss-hung branches of the ancient grove. The groups around thegrave, the dark faces, the red garments, the scattered lights, the mistyboughs, were weird and strange. The men sang one of their own wildchants. Two crickets sang also, one on either side, and did not ceasetheir little monotone, even when the three volleys were fired above thegraves. Just before the coffins were lowerd, an old man whispered to methat I must have their position altered,--the heads must be towards thewest; so it was done,--though they are in a place so veiled in woods thateither rising or setting sun will find it hard to spy them.

We have now a good regimental hospital, admirably arranged in a desertedgin-house,--a fine well of our own digging, within the camp lines,--a fullallowance of tents, all floored,--a wooden cook-house to every company,with sometimes a palmetto mess-house beside,--a substantial woodenguard-house, with a fireplace five feet "in de clar," where the men offduty can dry themselves and sleep comfortably in bunks afterwards. Wehave also a great circular school-tent, made of condemned canvas, thirtyfeet in diameter, and looking like some of the Indian lodges I saw inKansas. We now meditate a regimental bakery. Our aggregate has increasedfrom four hundred and ninety to seven hundred and forty, besides ahundred recruits now waiting at St. Augustine, and we have practisedthrough all the main movements in battalion drill.

Affairs being thus prosperous, and yesterday having been six weeks sincemy last and only visit to Beaufort, I rode in, glanced at several camps,and dined with the General. It seemed absolutely like re-entering theworld; and I did not fully estimate my past seclusion till it occurredto me, as a strange and novel phenomenon, that the soldiers at the othercamps were white.

January 8.

This morning I went to Beaufort again, on necessary business, and bygood luck happened upon a review and drill of the white regiments. Thething that struck me most was that same absence of uniformity, in minorpoints, that I noticed at first in my own officers. The best regimentsin the Department are represented among my captains and lieutenants, andvery well represented too; yet it has cost much labor to bring them toany uniformity in their drill. There is no need of this; for theprescribed "Tactics" approach perfection; it is never left discretionaryin what place an officer shall stand, or in what words he shall give hisorder. All variation would seem to imply negligence. Yet even West Pointoccasionally varies from the "Tactics,"--as, for instance, in requiringthe line officers to face down the line, when each is giving the orderto his company. In our strictest Massachusetts regiments this is not done.

It needs an artist's eye to make a perfect drill-master. Yet the smallpoints are not merely a matter of punctilio; for, the more perfectly abattalion is drilled on the parade-ground the more quietly it can behandled in action. Moreover, the great need of uniformity is this:that, in the field, soldiers of different companies, and even ofdifferent regiments, are liable to be intermingled, and a diversity oforders may throw everything into confusion. Confusion means Bull Run.

I wished my men at the review to-day; for, amidst all the rattling andnoise of artillery and the galloping of cavalry, there was only oneinfantry movement that we have not practised, and that was done by onlyone regiment, and apparently considered quite a novelty, though it iseasily taught,

--forming square by Casey's method: forward on centre. It is really justas easy to drill a regiment as a company,

--perhaps easier, because one has more time to think; but it is just asessential to be sharp and decisive, perfectly clearheaded, and to putlife into the men. A regiment seems small when one has learned how tohandle it, a mere handful of men; and I have no doubt that a brigade ora division would soon appear equally small. But to handle either_judiciously_, ah, that is another affair!

So of governing; it is as easy to govern a regiment as a school or afactory, and needs like qualities, system, promptness, patience, tact;moreover, in a regiment one has the aid of the admirable machinery ofthe army, so that I see very ordinary men who succeed very tolerably.

Reports of a six months' armistice are rife here, and the thought isdeplored by all. I cannot believe it; yet sometimes one feels veryanxious about the ultimate fate of these poor people. After theexperience of Hungary, one sees that revolutions may go backward; andthe habit of injustice seems so deeply impressed upon the whites, thatit is hard to believe in the possibility of anything better. I dare notyet hope that the promise of the President's Proclamation will be kept.For myself I can be indifferent, for the experience here has been itsown daily and hourly reward; and the adaptedness of the freed slaves fordrill and discipline is now thoroughly demonstrated, and must soon beuniversally acknowledged. But it would be terrible to see this regimentdisbanded or defrauded.

January 12.

Many things glide by without time to narrate them. On Saturday we had amail with the President's Second Message of Emancipation, and the nextday it was read to the men. The words themselves did not stir them verymuch, because they have been often told that they were free, especiallyon New Year's Day, and, being unversed in politics, they do notunderstand, as well as we do, the importance of each additionalguaranty. But the chaplain spoke to them afterwards very effectively, asusual; and then I proposed to them to hold up their hands and pledgethemselves to be faithful to those still in bondage. They enteredheartily into this, and the scene was quite impressive, beneath thegreat oak-branches. I heard afterwards that only one man refused toraise his hand, saying bluntly that his wife was out of slavery withhim, and he did not care to fight. The other soldiers of his companywere very indignant, and shoved him about among them while marching backto their quarters, calling him "Coward." I was glad of their exhibitionof feeling, though it is very possible that the one who had thus themoral courage to stand alone among his comrades might be more reliable,on a pinch, than some who yielded a more ready assent. But the wholeresponse, on their part, was very hearty, and will be a good thing towhich to hold them hereafter, at any time of discouragement ordemoralization,--which was my chief reason for proposing it. With theirsimple natures it is a great thing to tie them to some definitecommittal; they never forget a marked occurrence, and never seemdisposed to evade a pledge.

It is this capacity of honor and fidelity which gives me such entirefaith in them as soldiers. Without it all their religiousdemonstration would be mere sentimentality. For instance, every onewho visits the camp is struck with their bearing as sentinels. Theyexhibit, in this capacity, not an upstart conceit, but a steady,conscientious devotion to duty. They would stop their idolized GeneralSaxton, if he attempted to cross their beat contrary to orders: I haveseen them. No feeble or incompetent race could do this. The officerstell many amusing instances of this fidelity, but I think mine thebest.

It was very dark the other night, an unusual thing here, and therain fell in torrents; so I put on my India-rubber suit, and went therounds of the sentinels, incognito, to test them. I can only say that Ishall never try such an experiment again and have cautioned my officersagainst it. Tis a wonder I escaped with life and limb,--such a chargingof bayonets and clicking of gun-locks. Sometimes I tempted them byrefusing to give any countersign, but offering them a piece of tobacco,which they could not accept without allowing me nearer than theprescribed bayonet's distance. Tobacco is more than gold to them, and itwas touching to watch the struggle in their minds; but they always didtheir duty at last, and I never could persuade them. One man, as ifwishing to crush all his inward vacillation at one fell stroke, told mestoutly that he never used tobacco, though I found next day that heloved it as much as any one of them. It seemed wrong thus to tamper withtheir fidelity; yet it was a vital matter to me to know how far it couldbe trusted, out of my sight. It was so intensely dark that not more thanone or two knew me, even after I had talked with the very next sentinel,especially as they had never seen me in India-rubber clothing, and I canalways disguise my voice. It was easy to distinguish those who did makethe discovery; they were always conscious and simpering when their turncame; while the others were stout and irreverent till I revealed myself,and then rather cowed and anxious, fearing to have offended.

It rained harder and harder, and when I had nearly made the rounds I hadhad enough of it, and, simply giving the countersign to the challengingsentinel, undertook to pass within the lines.

"Halt!" exclaimed this dusky man and brother, bringing down his bayonet,"de countersign not correck."

Now the magic word, in this case, was "Vicksburg," in honor of arumored victory. But as I knew that these hard names became quitetransformed upon their lips, "Carthage" being familiarized intoCartridge, and "Concord" into Corn-cob, how could I possibly tell whatshade of pronunciation my friend might prefer for this particularproper name?

"Vicksburg," I repeated, blandly, but authoritatively, endeavoring, aszealously as one of Christy's Minstrels, to assimilate my speech to anysupposed predilection of the Ethiop vocal organs.

"Halt dar! Countersign not correck," was the only answer.

The bayonet still maintained a position which, in a military point ofview, was impressive.

I tried persuasion, orthography, threats, tobacco, all in vain. I couldnot pass in. Of course my pride was up; for was I to defer to anuntutored African on a point of pronunciation? Classic shades ofHarvard, forbid! Affecting scornful indifference, I tried to edge away,proposing to myself to enter the camp at some other point, where myelocution would be better appreciated. Not a step could I stir.

"Halt!" shouted my gentleman again, still holding me at his bayonet'spoint, and I wincing and halting.

I explained to him the extreme absurdity of this proceeding, called hisattention to the state of the weather, which, indeed, spoke for itselfso loudly that we could hardly hear each other speak, and requestedpermission to withdraw. The bayonet, with mute eloquence, refused theapplication.

There flashed into my mind, with more enjoyment in the retrospect thanI had experienced at the time, an adventure on a lecturing tour inother years, when I had spent an hour in trying to scramble into acountry tavern, after bed-time, on the coldest night of winter. Onthat occasion I ultimately found myself stuck midway in the window,with my head in a temperature of 80 degrees, and my heels in atemperature of -10 degrees, with a heavy windowsash pinioning thesmall of my back. However, I had got safe out of that dilemma, and itwas time to put an end to this one,

"Call the corporal of the guard," said I at last, with dignity,unwilling to make a night of it or to yield my incognito.

"Corporal ob de guardl" he shouted, lustily,--"Post Number Two!" while Icould hear another sentinel chuckling with laughter. This last was aspecial guard, placed over a tent, with a prisoner in charge. Presentlyhe broke silence.

"Who am dat?" he asked, in a stage whisper. "Am he a buckra [white man]?"

"Dunno whether he been a buckra or not," responded, doggedly, myCerberus in uniform; "but I's bound to keep him here till de corporal obde guard come."

Yet, when that dignitary arrived, and I revealed myself, poor Number Twoappeared utterly transfixed with terror, and seemed to look for nothingless than immediate execution. Of course I praised his fidelity, and thenext day complimented him before the guard, and mentioned him to hiscaptain; and the whole affair was very good for them all. Hereafter, ifSatan himself should approach them in darkness and storm, they will take_him_ for "de Cunnel," and treat him with special severity.

January 13.

In many ways the childish nature of this people shows itself. I havejust had to make a change of officers in a company which has constantlycomplained, and with good reason, of neglect and improper treatment. Twoexcellent officers have been assigned to them; and yet they sent adeputation to me in the evening, in a state of utter wretchedness. "We'sbery grieved dis evening, Cunnel; 'pears like we couldn't bear it, tolose de Cap'n and de Lieutenant, all two togeder." Argument was useless;and I could only fall back on the general theory, that I knew what wasbest for them, which had much more effect; and I also could cite theinstance of another company, which had been much improved by a newcaptain, as they readily admitted. So with the promise that the newofficers should not be "savage to we," which was the one thing theydeprecated, I assuaged their woes. Twenty-four hours have passed, and Ihear them singing most merrily all down that company street.

I often notice how their griefs may be dispelled, like those ofchildren, merely by permission to utter them: if they can tell theirsorrows, they go away happy, even without asking to have anything doneabout them. I observe also a peculiar dislike of all _intermediate_control: they always wish to pass by the company officer, and dealwith me personally for everything. General Saxton notices the samething with the people on the plantations as regards himself. I supposethis proceeds partly from the old habit of appealing to the masteragainst the overseer. Kind words would cost the master nothing, and hecould easily put off any non-fulfilment upon the overseer. Moreover,the negroes have acquired such constitutional distrust of whitepeople, that it is perhaps as much as they can do to trust more thanone person at a tune. Meanwhile this constant personal intercourse isout of the question in a well-ordered regiment; and the remedy for itis to introduce by degrees more and more of system, so that theirimmediate officers will become all-sufficient for the daily routine.

It is perfectly true (as I find everybody takes for granted) that thefirst essential for an officer of colored troops is to gain theirconfidence. But it is equally true, though many persons do notappreciate it, that the admirable methods and proprieties of the regulararmy are equally available for all troops, and that the sublimestphilanthropist, if he does not appreciate this, is unfit to command them.

Another childlike attribute in these men, which is less agreeable, is asort of blunt insensibility to giving physical pain. If they are cruelto animals, for instance, it always reminds me of children pulling offflies' legs, in a sort of pitiless, untaught, experimental way. Yet Ishould not fear any wanton outrage from them. After all their wrongs,they are not really revengeful; and I would far rather enter a capturedcity with them than with white troops, for they would be moresubordinate. But for mere physical suffering they would have no finesympathies. The cruel things they have seen and undergone have helped toblunt them; and if I ordered them to put to death a dozen prisoners, Ithink they would do it without remonstrance.

Yet their religious spirit grows more beautiful to me in living longerwith them; it is certainly far more so than at first, when it seemedrather a matter of phrase and habit. It influences them both on thenegative and the positive side. That is, it cultivates the femininevirtues first,--makes them patient, meek, resigned. This is veryevident in the hospital; there is nothing of the restless, defianthabit of white invalids. Perhaps, if they had more of this, theywould resist disease better. Imbued from childhood with the habit ofsubmission, drinking in through every pore that other-world trustwhich is the one spirit of their songs, they can endure everything.This I expected; but I am relieved to find that their religionstrengthens them on the positive side also,--gives zeal, energy,daring. They could easily be made fanatics, if I chose; but I do notchoose. Their whole mood is essentially Mohammedan, perhaps, in itsstrength and its weakness; and I feel the same degree of sympathy thatI should if I had a Turkish command,--that is, a sort of sympatheticadmiration, not tending towards agreement, but towards co-operation.Their philosophizing is often the highest form of mysticism; and ourdear surgeon declares that they are all natural transcendentalists.The white camps seem rough and secular, after this; and I hear our mentalk about "a religious army," "a Gospel army," in theirprayer-meetings. They are certainly evangelizing the chaplain, who wasrather a heretic at the beginning; at least, this is his ownadmission. We have recruits on their way from St. Augustine, where thenegroes are chiefly Roman Catholics; and it will be interesting to seehow their type of character combines with that elder creed. It is timefor rest; and I have just looked out into the night, where the eternalstars shut down, in concave protection, over the yet glimmering camp,and Orion hangs above my tent-door, giving to me the sense of strengthand assurance which these simple children obtain from their Moses andthe Prophets. Yet external Nature does its share in their training;witness that most poetic of all their songs, which always reminds meof the "Lyke-Wake Dirge" in the "Scottish Border Minstrelsy,"--

"I know moon-rise, I know star-rise; Lay dis body down. I walk in de moonlight, I walk in de starlight, To lay dis body down. I'll walk in de graveyard, I'll walk through de graveyard, To lay dis body down. I'll lie in de grave and stretch out my arms; Lay dis body down. I go to de Judgment in de evening ob de day When I lay dis body down; And my soul and your soul will meet in de day When I lay dis body down."

January 14.

In speaking of the military qualities of the blacks, I should add, thatthe only point where I am disappointed is one I have never seen raisedby the most incredulous newspaper critics,--namely, then- physicalcondition. To be sure they often look magnificently to mygymnasium-trained eye; and I always like to observe them whenbathing,--such splendid muscular development, set off by that smoothcoating of adipose tissue which makes them, like the South-Sea Islandersappear even more muscular than they are. Their skins are also of finergrain than those of whites, the surgeons say, and certainly are smootherand far more free from hair. But their weakness is pulmonary; pneumoniaand pleurisy are their besetting ailments; they are easily made ill,--andeasily cured, if promptly treated: childish organizations again.Guard-duty injures them more than whites, apparently; and double-quickmovements, in choking dust, set them coughing badly. But then it is tobe remembered that this is their sickly season, from January to March,and that their healthy season will come in summer, when the whites breakdown. Still my conviction of the physical superiority of more highlycivilized races is strengthened on the whole, not weakened, by observingthem. As to availability for military drill and duty in other respects,the only question I ever hear debated among the officers is, whetherthey are equal or superior to whites. I have never heard it suggestedthat they were inferior, although I expected frequently to hear suchcomplaints from hasty or unsuccessful officers.

Of one thing I am sure, that their best qualities will be wasted bymerely keeping them for garrison duty. They seem peculiarly fitted foroffensive operations, and especially for partisan warfare; they haveso much dash and such abundant resources, combined with such anIndian-like knowledge of the country and its ways. These traits havebeen often illustrated in expeditions sent after deserters. Forinstance, I despatched one of my best lieutenants and my best sergeantwith a squad of men to search a certain plantation, where there weretwo separate negro villages. They went by night, and the force wasdivided. The lieutenant took one set of huts, the sergeant the other.Before the lieutenant had reached his first house, every man in thevillage was in the woods, innocent and guilty alike. But thesergeant's mode of operation was thus described by a corporal from awhite regiment who happened to be in one of the negro houses. He saidthat not a sound was heard until suddenly a red leg appeared in theopen doorway, and a voice outside said, "Rally." Going to the door, heobserved a similar pair of red legs before every hut, and not a personwas allowed to go out, until the quarters had been thoroughlysearched, and the three deserters found. This was managed by SergeantPrince Rivers, our color-sergeant, who is provost-sergeant also, andhas entire charge of the prisoners and of the daily policing of thecamp. He is a man of distinguished appearance, and in old times wasthe crack coachman of Beaufort, in which capacity he once droveBeauregard from this plantation to Charleston, I believe. They tell methat he was once allowed to present a petition to the Governor ofSouth Carolina in behalf of slaves, for the redress of certaingrievances; and that a placard, offering two thousand dollars for hisrecapture, is still to be seen by the wayside between here andCharleston. He was a sergeant in the old "Hunter Regiment," and wastaken by General Hunter to New York last spring, where the _chevrons_on his arm brought a mob upon him in Broadway, whom he kept off tillthe police interfered. There is not a white officer in this regimentwho has more administrative ability, or more absolute authority overthe men; they do not love him, but his mere presence has controllingpower over them. He writes well enough to prepare for me a dailyreport of his duties in the camp; if his education reached a higherpoint, I see no reason why he should not command the Army of thePotomac. He is jet-black, or rather, I should say, _wine-black_; hiscomplexion, like that of others of my darkest men, having a sort ofrich, clear depth, without a trace of sootiness, and to my eye veryhandsome. His features are tolerably regular, and full of command, andhis figure superior to that of any of our white officers,--being sixfeet high, perfectly proportioned, and of apparently inexhaustiblestrength and activity. His gait is like a panther's; I never saw sucha tread. No anti-slavery novel has described a man of such markedability. He makes Toussaint perfectly intelligible; and if thereshould ever be a black monarchy in South Carolina, he will be itsking.

January 15.

This morning is like May. Yesterday I saw bluebirds and a butterfly; sothis whiter of a fortnight is over. I fancy there is a trifle lesscoughing in the camp. We hear of other stations in the Department wherethe mortality, chiefly from yellow fever, has been frightful. Dr. ---- isrubbing his hands professionally over the fearful tales of the surgeonof a New York regiment, just from Key West, who has had two hundredcases of the fever. "I suppose he is a skilful, highly educated man,"said I. "Yes," he responded with enthusiasm. "Why, he had seventydeaths!"--as if that proved his superiority past question.

January 19.

"And first, sitting proud as a lung on his throne, At the head of themall rode Sir Richard Tyrone."

But I fancy that Sir Richard felt not much better satisfied with hisfollowing than I to-day. J. R. L. said once that nothing was quite sogood as turtle-soup, except mock-turtle; and I have heard officersdeclare that nothing was so stirring as real war, except some excitingparade. To-day, for the first time, I marched the whole regimentthrough Beaufort and back,--the first appearance of such a novelty onany stage. They did march splendidly; this all admit. M----'sprediction was fulfilled: "Will not ---- be in bliss? A thousand men,every one as black as a coal!" I confess it. To look back on twentybroad double-ranks of men (for they marched by platoons),--everypolished musket having a black face beside it, and every face setsteadily to the front,--a regiment of freed slaves marching on intothe future,--it was something to remember; and when they returnedthrough the same streets, marching by the flank, with guns at a"support," and each man covering his file-leader handsomely, theeffect on the eye was almost as fine. The band of the Eighth Mainejoined us at the entrance of the town, and escorted us in. SergeantRivers said ecstatically afterwards, in describing the affair, "Andwhen dat band wheel in before us, and march on,--my God! I quit disworld altogeder." I wonder if he pictured to himself the many duskyregiments, now unformed, which I seemed to see marching up behind us,gathering shape out of the dim air.

I had cautioned the men, before leaving camp, not to be staring aboutthem as they marched, but to look straight to the front, every man; andthey did it with their accustomed fidelity, aided by the sort ofspontaneous eye-for-effect which is in all their melodramatic natures.One of them was heard to say exultingly afterwards, "We didn't look tode right nor to de leff. I didn't see notin' in Beaufort. Eb'ry step wasworth a half a dollar." And they all marched as if it were so. They knewwell that they were marching through throngs of officers and soldierswho had drilled as many months as we had drilled weeks, and whose eyeswould readily spy out every defect. And I must say, that, on the whole,with a few trivial exceptions, those spectators behaved in a manly andcourteous manner, and I do not care to write down all the handsomethings that were said. Whether said or not, they were deserved; andthere is no danger that our men will not take sufficient satisfaction intheir good appearance. I was especially amused at one of our recruits,who did not march in the ranks, and who said, after watching theastonishment of some white soldiers, "De buckra sojers look like a manwho been-a-steal a sheep,"--that is, I suppose, sheepish.

After passing and repassing through the town, we marched to theparade-ground, and went through an hour's drill, forming squares andreducing them, and doing other things which look hard on paper, andare perfectly easy in fact; and we were to have been reviewed byGeneral Saxton, but he had been unexpectedly called to Ladies Island,and did not see us at all, which was the only thing to mar the men'senjoyment. Then we marched back to camp (three miles), the men singingthe "John Brown Song," and all manner of things,--as happy creaturesas one can well conceive.

It is worth mentioning, before I close, that we have just received anarticle about "Negro Troops," from the _London Spectator_, which is soadmirably true to our experience that it seems as if written by one ofus. I am confident that there never has been, in any American newspaper,a treatment of the subject so discriminating and so wise.

January 21.

To-day brought a visit from Major-General Hunter and his staff, byGeneral Saxton's invitation,--the former having just arrived in theDepartment. I expected them at dress-parade, but they came duringbattalion drill, rather to my dismay, and we were caught in our oldclothes. It was our first review, and I dare say we did tolerably; butof course it seemed to me that the men never appeared so ill before,--just as one always thinks a party at one's own house a failure, even ifthe guests seem to enjoy it, because one is so keenly sensitive to everylittle thing that goes wrong. After review and drill, General Huntermade the men a little speech, at my request, and told them that hewished there were fifty thousand of them. General Saxton spoke to themafterwards, and said that fifty thousand muskets were on their way forcolored troops. The men cheered both the generals lustily; and they werecomplimentary afterwards, though I knew that the regiment could not haveappeared nearly so well as on its visit to Beaufort. I suppose I feltlike some anxious mamma whose children have accidentally appeared atdancing-school in their old clothes.

General Hunter promises us all we want,--pay when the funds arrive,Springfield rifled muskets, and blue trousers. Moreover, he hasgraciously consented that we should go on an expedition along thecoast, to pick up cotton, lumber, and, above all, recruits. I declinedan offer like this just after my arrival, because the regiment was notdrilled or disciplined, not even the officers; but it is all we wishfor now.

"What care I how black I be? Forty pounds will marry me,"

quoth Mother Goose. _Forty rounds_ will marry us to the American Army,past divorcing, if we can only use them well. Our success or failure maymake or mar the prospects of colored troops. But it is well to rememberin advance that military success is really less satisfatory than anyother, because it may depend on a moment's turn of events, and that maybe determined by some trivial thing, neither to be anticipated norcontrolled. Napoleon ought to have won at Waterloo by all reasonablecalculations; but who cares? All that one can expect is, to do one'sbest, and to take with equanimity the fortune of war.

Chapter 3Up the St. Mary's

If Sergeant Rivers was a natural king among my dusky soldiers, CorporalRobert Sutton was the natural prime-minister. If not in all respects theablest, he was the wisest man in our ranks. As large, as powerful, andas black as our good-looking Color-Sergeant, but more heavily built andwith less personal beauty, he had a more massive brain and a far moremeditative and systematic intellect. Not yet grounded even in thespelling-book, his modes of thought were nevertheless strong, lucid, andaccurate; and he yearned and pined for intellectual companionship beyondall ignorant men whom I have ever met. I believe that he would havetalked all day and all night, for days together, to any officer whocould instruct him, until his companions, at least, fell asleepexhausted. His comprehension of the whole problem of Slavery was morethorough and far-reaching than that of any Abolitionist, so far as itssocial and military aspects went; in that direction I could teach himnothing, and he taught me much. But it was his methods of thought whichalways impressed me chiefly: superficial brilliancy he left to others,and grasped at the solid truth.

Of course his interest in the war and in the regiment was unbounded;he did not take to drill with especial readiness, but he wasinsatiable of it, and grudged every moment of relaxation. Indeed, henever had any such moments; his mind was at work all the time, evenwhen he was singing hymns, of which he had endless store. He was not,however, one of our leading religionists, but his moral code was solidand reliable, like his mental processes. Ignorant as he was, the"years that bring the philosophic mind" had yet been his, and most ofmy young officers seemed boys beside him. He was a Florida man, andhad been chiefly employed in lumbering and piloting on the St. Mary'sRiver, which divides Florida from Georgia. Down this stream he hadescaped in a "dug-out," and after thus finding the way, had returned(as had not a few of my men in other cases) to bring away wife andchild. "I wouldn't have left my child, Cunnel," he said, with anemphasis that sounded the depths of his strong nature. And up thissame river he was always imploring to be allowed to guide anexpedition.

Many other men had rival propositions to urge, for they gainedself-confidence from drill and guard-duty, and were growing impatient ofinaction. "Ought to go to work, Sa,--don't believe in we lyin' in campeatin' up de perwisions." Such were the quaint complaints, which I heardwith joy. Looking over my note-books of that period, I find them filledwith topographical memoranda, jotted down by a flickering candle, fromthe evening talk of the men,--notes of vulnerable points along the coast,charts of rivers, locations of pickets. I prized these conversations notmore for what I thus learned of the country than for what I learned ofthe men. One could thus measure their various degrees of accuracy andtheir average military instinct; and I must say that in every respect,save the accurate estimate of distances, they stood the test well. Butno project took my fancy so much, after all, as that of the delegatefrom the St. Mary's River.

The best peg on which to hang an expedition in the Department of theSouth, in those days, was the promise of lumber. Dwelling in the veryland of Southern pine, the Department authorities had to send Northfor it, at a vast expense. There was reported to be plenty in theenemy's country, but somehow the colored soldiers were the only oneswho had been lucky enough to obtain any, thus far, and the supplybrought in by our men, after flooring the tents of the white regimentsand our own, was running low. An expedition of white troops, fourcompanies, with two steamers and two schooners, had lately returnedempty-handed, after a week's foraging; and now it was our turn. Theysaid the mills were all burned; but should we go up the St. Mary's,Corporal Sutton was prepared to offer more lumber than we hadtransportation to carry. This made the crowning charm of hissuggestion. But there is never any danger of erring on the side ofsecrecy, in a military department; and I resolved to avoid all unduepublicity for our plans, by not finally deciding on any until weshould get outside the bar. This was happily approved by my superiorofficers, Major-General Hunter and Brigadier-General Saxton; and I wasaccordingly permitted to take three steamers, with four hundred andsixty. two officers and men, and two or three invited guests, and godown the coast on my own responsibility. We were, in short, to win ourspurs; and if, as among the Araucanians, our spurs were made oflumber, so much the better. The whole history of the Department of theSouth had been defined as "a military picnic," and now we were to takeour share of the entertainment.

It seemed a pleasant share, when, after the usual vexations anddelays, we found ourselves (January 23, 1863) gliding down the fullwaters of Beaufort River, the three vessels having sailed at differenthours, with orders to rendezvous at St. Simon's Island, on the coastof Georgia. Until then, the flagship, so to speak, was to be the "BenDe Ford," Captain Hallet,--this being by far the largest vessel, andcarrying most of the men. Major Strong was in command upon the "JohnAdams," an army gunboat, carrying a thirty-pound Parrott gun, twoten-pound Parrotts, and an eight-inch howitzer. Captain Trowbridge(since promoted Lieutenant-Colonel of the regiment) had charge of thefamous "Planter," brought away from the Rebels by Robert Small; shecarried a ten-pound Parrott gun, and two howitzers. The John Adams was